by Lisa Jackson
* * *
Colton sank into the blackest mood he’d been in since he’d awoken in that hospital room in Belfast with tubes attached to his wrist and the pain in his shoulder racking his body. He tried and failed at shoving thoughts of Cassie and her father from his mind. He drank more than he should have, wandered around the empty farmhouse and spent too many hours near the roaring Sage River, staring at the damned Aldridge property beyond.
Gruff with the hands, rude to Curtis, he discovered that almost everyone on the ranch granted him wide berth. Good! He didn’t care. All he wanted was to find the bloody horse and for Denver and Tessa to cut their trip short and return.
Two days after his confrontation with Cassie and Ivan, Colton stepped off the back porch and spied Curtis on his way from the stables. But before he reached Colton, Curtis stopped dead in his tracks. “Well, I’ll be damned!” he muttered, his old eyes squinting toward the distant hills.
Colton followed the old man’s gaze. Morning mist rose from the grassy fields, and the highest peaks of the mountains, snowcapped and craggy, were gilded by a bright Montana sun. In a field near the foothills, a solitary black horse stood, head raised, mane and tail fluttering in the slight breeze. Colton’s eyes narrowed. “Is it Black Magic?” he asked, running across the yard.
“Or his twin.”
They didn’t waste any time. Together Curtis and Colton climbed into a truck and maneuvered through the series of gates to the most westerly field, where the stallion, ears pricked forward, coat gleaming, picked at a few spring blades of grass.
“Where’ve you been?” Colton asked as Curtis clipped a lead rope on Black Magic’s halter.
“And what’ve you been doin’?” Curtis ran expert hands along the horse’s sides and legs, then looked into his eyes. “He looks good,” the old man said with a relieved sigh, his gnarled fingers stroking Magic’s shoulder. Curtis studied the horse. “Good thing we didn’t call Denver. He and Tessa would’ve worked themselves up over nothin’.”
“Right.” But Colton was still uneasy. True, the stallion looked none the worse for wear. His charcoal coat was glossy beneath the morning sun, his eyes held the same fire Colton remembered, and he butted Colton playfully. “How the hell did you get back here?”
“Beats me,” Curtis said under his breath. “But if I were you, I’d count my blessings.”
While Curtis drove the pickup back to the yard, Colton walked the stallion to the stables. Black Magic pulled and tugged at the lead, mincing and sidestepping. “You’re full of it, aren’t you?” Colton remarked as he closed the final gate and led the horse into the stallion barn.
Curtis was already waiting. The floor of Black Magic’s stall was covered with fresh straw. Oats had been spread in the manger. Curtis finished drawing a bucket of fresh water and offered it to the stallion before locking him into the stall. “Okay, now that he’s back where he belongs, tell me where you think he was.”
“I wish I knew,” Colton said with feeling.
Curtis ran a leathery hand around his neck. “I’ll still stake a month’s wages on Aldridge. You probably scared the bejeezus out of him the other night and he thought he’d better cover his backside. If you ask me, Ivan Aldridge brought our boy, here, back.”
Colton’s eyes never left the stallion. “Is this exactly what happened last year?”
“About. But he was gone longer.”
Puzzled, Colton asked, “Why would Ivan Aldridge have taken the horse last year? If he’s got any gripe against the family, it’s with me, and I wasn’t even around.”
“He didn’t much like John. It happened before his death.” Curtis lifted a shoulder. “He hates the lot of you, you know.”
It was a simple enough explanation, but not good enough.
“You just wait. I bet the foals born on the Aldridge spread this year look a lot like this guy.” Curtis petted Black Magic’s muzzle.
“Then I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?” Colton’s gaze swept the stables before landing on the empty stall next to Black Magic’s. “Maybe I’ll sleep out here tonight.”
Curtis’s faded eyes darkened. “You think he’ll be taken again?”
“I don’t know,” Colton replied, unable to shake the restless feeling that things still weren’t resolved. Just because the stallion was back didn’t mean whoever was behind the theft wouldn’t try something else. “But I don’t want to take any chances.”
Curtis eyed the empty stall. “It won’t be very comfortable.”
“I’ve been in worse places.”
“And look what it got you.”
“I’m not losing this horse again.”
Curtis forked some hay into Black Magic’s manger. “Do whatever you want.”
It’s not what I want, Colton thought unkindly. But it had to be done. He wasn’t about to explain to Denver that he’d lost his prize stallion twice in a few weeks. “Stay with him until I get back.”
“Whatever you say.”
His mind racing for a possible explanation to Black Magic’s disappearance, Colton saddled up Tempest, a sorrel stallion without much personality. Reasoning that the only gate to the field in which Black Magic was found was near the house, Colton decided to check the fence line. Either the stallion had jumped the fence, walked right through the main yard and opened the gate himself, or the fence had been cut again.
“Come on, Tempest, let’s figure this out,” he muttered as he swung into the saddle. Pain pierced his shoulder, and the stallion sidestepped gingerly.
Colton held the sorrel to a quick walk, his gaze following the four strands of barbed wire encircling the field in which Black Magic had been grazing.
The fence was intact. Not one strand had been clipped. Nor had any of the sections been replaced. All the barbed wire was the same dull brown that sectioned off the fields surrounding the ranch. “So much for that theory,” Colton grumbled.
By the time he unsaddled Tempest, Colton didn’t know any more than he had when he’d left. It seemed as if he was all out of options. If he had to sleep in the stables in a sleeping bag, so be it. Just so long as when Denver returned, Black Magic hadn’t disappeared again.
“Find anything?” Curtis asked as Colton tossed a worn sleeping bag onto an Army cot he’d positioned in the empty stall next to Black Magic’s.
“Nothing.” Colton shook his head, baffled.
“If only he could talk.” Curtis leaned one arm over the box door and stared at the nervous black stallion.
Colton rubbed his jaw and scowled into the stall that was to be his bedroom for the next couple of weeks.
Was Aldridge behind the horse’s disappearance? Or was he just a convenient scapegoat? Could someone else have taken him—Matt Wilkerson or Bill Simpson? Had Denver or John made some enemies that no one knew about? Or, had Black Magic found a hole in the fence and wandered through?
“No way!” Colton decided, slapping the top rail of the box. Black Magic snorted, his ebony coat gleaming in the dim light of the fluorescent bulbs.
Colton knew that the best course of action was just to hold tight until Denver returned. The horse’s disappearance, now over, wasn’t any of his business. His older brother could deal with it.
And yet, a part of him was still intrigued. Years of unraveling mysteries and living on the edge in some of the most dangerous political hot spots in the world caused his suspicious mind to leap ahead to every available conclusion. He’d find grim satisfaction in exposing the culprit, should there be one.
Thoughtfully he rubbed his chin again, his beard scratchy and rough. And what if that culprit turned out to be Ivan the Terrible? What then? How would he break the news to Cassie? Instead of experiencing triumph and satisfaction, he just might feel guilty as hell.
Angry with the turn of his thoughts, he kicked the wall. A water pail jangled, and several horses snorted and whinnied. Colton barely noticed. His thoughts were too dark. Whether he liked it or not, Ivan Aldridge was Cassie’
s father and had stood by her when Colton had taken off. Not that she didn’t have it coming, he reminded himself, then strode out of the stallion barn to the late morning air.
A small flock of crows cawed loudly and flapped their shiny black wings noisily. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” Colton growled, glad to have something at which to vent his frustrations.
He didn’t want to think about Cassie or her old man. Too many emotions he’d rather forget kept surfacing. And the fact that she lived just down the road brought temptation much too close. He’d like to see her again; he couldn’t even deny it to himself. He’d lain awake more nights than he wanted to admit fantasizing about her. But he’d be damned if he’d get caught in her sweet trap all over again! No, at the soonest opportunity he was making tracks out of this desolate, windswept country, and he was leaving all thoughts of Cassie behind!
* * *
Cassie parked near the garage and frowned when she recognized Vince Monroe’s green Chevy. In the past few years Ivan and Vince had become friends—helping each other with odd chores—and though Cassie didn’t hold Vince in very high esteem, she kept her thoughts to herself. Her father needed help on the ranch, more help than she could give, and Vince Monroe had broad shoulders and a strong back. The fact that he was Jessica’s father shouldn’t be held against him, Cassie supposed ungraciously as she hauled two bags of groceries from the car. After all, what had happened between Colton, Jessica and Cassie was long over.
She kicked the car door shut with her foot, then nearly tripped on Erasmus, who had bounded down the steps to greet her.
“You should be careful,” she warned the old dog as she backed through the kitchen door and set the ungainly sacks on the kitchen counter. Bending on one knee, she scratched Erasmus behind his ears. The old dog whined in ecstasy, rolling over on his back and exposing his belly. “Glutton,” Cassie teased.
“I thought I heard you drive in.” Her father, followed by Vince Monroe, walked stiffly into the kitchen. The television was still blaring from the living room, and Cassie made out the sounds of a pre-game talk show. “I was just telling Vince that it was about time for you to show up.”
“Glad you missed me,” she quipped.
Grinning, Ivan settled into his favorite chair near the wood stove.
As she began unpacking groceries, Cassie silently evaluated the two men. Her father and Vince were as different as night and day. Where her father was lean to the point of being gaunt, Vince was robust and supported a belly that stretched his belt to the last notch. Her father’s hair had turned steely and thin, but Vince’s sandy hair was thick and vital, his blue eyes still bright and quick. Cassie had the feeling that Vince Monroe didn’t miss much. She’d often wondered if he’d known of her involvement with Colton. As Jessica Monroe’s father, he must’ve realized that his daughter and Cassie had once vied for Colton’s affections. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he wasn’t that involved in his daughters’ lives.
“I suppose you’ve heard the news,” her father said, grinning widely, his eyes twinkling.
“What news?”
“McLean’s Black Magic reappeared. According to Vince, here, Curtis Kramer found him in one of the main pastures.”
“But—”
Vince shook his head and chuckled. “The same thing happened last year, you know. The stallion was gone for a few weeks and just showed up again. Old John was fit to be tied!” Vince hooted at the memory, and Ivan chuckled.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Cassie said, her thoughts tangled in emotions that should have been long dead. “Colton wouldn’t make this kind of mistake—he wouldn’t have come charging over here like a mad bull, making all sorts of accusations if the horse had just wandered into the wrong field. . . .”
“Boy, I would’ve loved to have been a fly on the wall when McLean found his horse,” Ivan muttered, reaching for the old coffeepot on the stove and pouring himself another cup. “Serves him right. How about a cup?” he asked his friend, but Vince spread his big hands and shook his head.
“How’d you find out about this?” Cassie asked.
Vince set his empty cup in the sink. “I ran into Bill Simpson in town today. He’d been over to the McLean spread and talked to Curtis Kramer. Simpson says McLean and Kramer are still scratching their heads over it.”
“You know, everyone at the McLean Ranch is sure he was stolen. Some big conspiracy or somethin’. Only thing they can’t explain is why anyone would bother taking the horse just to return him.” Vince chuckled deep in his throat. “If you ask me, Colton McLean had one too many shots taken at him. Maybe one grazed his head.”
Cassie stiffened, but she didn’t jump to Colton’s defense. After all, he thought her father was involved. “Where was Black Magic all this time?”
“No one knows—probably with the wild horses,” her father said.
Cassie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She was relieved that Black Magic was safe, but also felt a small triumph. Though she told herself that she had outgrown her need for vengeance, she knew she would feel a warm glow of satisfaction in telling Colton just what she thought of him. She’d love to watch him eat crow! “So the horse was on McLean land the entire time?”
“No one knows for sure.”
“What about the snipped fence?”
“Beats me. McLean probably made it up,” Vince said as he reached for his hat and rammed it onto his broad head. “Thanks for your help with the tractor,” he said to her father. “I owe you.” With a wave, he was out the door and down the back steps.
Ivan eyed his daughter. “So what do you think about Colton losing his horse?”
“I don’t know,” she murmured, watching through the window as Vince’s truck lumbered down the lane. “But I bet there’s more to it than we know.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Ivan decided, dismissing the subject. “He’s got his horse back and he’ll leave us alone.”
Cassie wasn’t so sure. Colton had dragged her into this mess, charged her father with horrid accusations, then stormed out. Surely he wouldn’t expect her to ignore the fact that he’d been wrong.
Cassie closed the cupboard and folded the empty sacks. “I think I’ll go talk with Colton and see what he has to say for himself,” she said, almost to herself. She knew she was playing with proverbial fire, but the idea grew on her. She could almost taste the sweetness of Colton’s apology.
“Maybe it would be best to leave well enough alone,” Ivan suggested. He wedged off one boot with the toe of the other.
“Like Colton did?” she responded, angry all over again at the gall of Colton McLean. “Maybe you’ve forgotten, Dad. He came busting over here and practically accused you of being a horse thief!”
“Well, he was wrong, wasn’t he? I guess he’ll have to live with that.” Ivan chuckled.
“And I guess I’m going to give him a piece of my mind!” Cassie relished the idea more and more. “I’ll be back later.”
“Cass . . .”
She heard her father call her name as the screen door banged behind her, but she didn’t care. For the past few days she’d been walking on eggshells with Ivan. He’d been touchy after his meeting with Colton. She’d caught him sitting in the dark, brooding. But now it was over. Now it was time to set the record straight!
After all, she reasoned as she shifted the gears of the old Dodge truck, Colton McLean owed her an explanation. Her fingers curled tight over the steering wheel, and she squinted through the grimy windshield against the final blaze of a dying sun.
She couldn’t wait to hear what Colton had to say for himself, but her stomach churned at the thought of facing him again. There was something powerful and potent about Colton—something she could never ignore.
The wheels of the truck ground to a stop as she parked beneath a single oak tree near the front of the McLean house. Pocketing her keys, she swallowed hard, and without taking the time to second-guess herself, marched briskly up the brick path to the front door.
Cassie didn’t waste any time. She climbed the worn steps and knocked loudly on the front door. There she waited, crossing her arms under her breasts and wishing she knew what she was going to say to Colton when she came face to face with him.
Within seconds she heard the scrape of boots.
Her heart began to slam against her ribs.
The door swung open, and Colton himself, stripped bare to the waist, eyed her. His muscles were firm and sleek under skin that was surprisingly dark. Several ugly scars crisscrossed in a purple webbing across his shoulder. A white towel was slung around his neck, and from the dabs of foam near his temple and the fact that his chin was buck naked, she knew he’d been shaving.
Her throat tightened. His skin, recently covered with a dark beard, was now pale but firm. Thin, defined lips curved slightly at the sight of her, though the line of his jaw remained rigid.
“Well, Cassie,” he drawled, crossing his arms over his naked chest and leaning the battle-scarred shoulder against the doorjamb. “You’re the last person I expected to see. Don’t tell me—this isn’t a social call. Right?”
Her throat so tight she could barely speak, she stared at him. Without the beard he looked exactly like the young man she’d loved so fervently all those years before. “I—I, uh, heard you found your horse.” Dear Lord, why was her voice so soft?
Colton’s grin widened. “Good news travels fast.”
“And he was right in the middle of your ranch?”
“Approximately,” he agreed, amusement plain in his gray eyes.